Friday, 28th—The weather continues fine. We spent the day in washing and cleaning our clothing. We received orders to start for Washington at 8 o’clock in the morning, going by way of Richmond, Virginia. Great rejoicing in camp at the thought of going home—to come back no more. The report is that the four corps under Sherman, with Kilpatrick’s cavalry, are going North, while the Twenty-third Corps under Schofield will remain at Raleigh until all of Johnston’s men leave for their homes. He will take over the munitions of war surrendered by Johnston.
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
28th. Saw the train come in. Commenced to rain early in the day. The procession was grand. Got wet through looking at it. The Bajida and other arrangements were splendid. Very unpleasant day.
Chattanooga, Friday, April 28. I have just finished treading out another eight hours of this rebellion. Scoured my sabre and turned it over to the orderly so my successor can have it. Most of the boys are on duty, some are white-washing the stables, others policing, and I find more quiet to write than usual. Our quarters are full of boisterous soldiers generally—sixteen makes a great noise. Have written to T. L. and must cease this scribble to enjoy a short space of quiet inaction, for I am in a happy, lazy mood.
By the way, our gallant old leader, General Sherman, has committed a grave mistake in dealing with his crafty foe, Johnston. Already the ravenous editors are pouncing upon him to tear him by piecemeal, but the soldiers are slow to censure one whom they respect so much. I for one doubt not his sincerity for a single moment. But, great in magnanimity himself, he placed far too much confidence in the honor of his enemy. General Grant goes forward. All will soon be right again. Booth has been shot by his pursuers, thereby cheating hemp of its dues.
Charles Francis Adams, U.S. Minister to the U.K., to his son, Charles.
London, April 28, 1865
Your letter from Richmond was sent by John, as you desired, over to us. I read it with the greatest interest, and sent it off to your mother at Rome. It was a singular circumstance that you, in the fourth generation of our family, under the Union and the constitution, should have been the first to put your foot in the capital of the Ancient Dominion, and that, too, at the head of a corps which prefigured the downfall of the policy which had ruled in that capital during the whole period now closely approaching a century. How full of significance is this history, which all of us are now helping to make! It is literally the third and fourth generation which is paying the bitter penalty for what must now be admitted were the shortcomings of the original founders of the Union. It was Jefferson who uttered the warning words, “I tremble for my country when I reflect that God is just.” Yet even he in his latest years recoiled in equal terror from the opportunity then presented of applying at least a corrective to the fatal tendency of that moment. We have had it all to do at a period when the dangerous evil had reached the plenitude of its power and threatened to expand its sway over all. Practically the task may be said to have been accomplished. But at what a penalty to the generations now alive, and perhaps to their posterity!
And now comes the crowning abomination of this unholy spirit. With its physical power finally crushed, it strives to wreak its last vengeance upon the heads of those whom circumstances have happened to put forward as the leading instruments to bring about this change. Stupidly and blindly these puny devils bring on themselves by their own acts the danger of aggravating the very chastisement under which they are writhing. The magnanimity of the victorious nation was but speaking in the persons of Abraham Lincoln
and William H. Seward words of conciliation and kindness to the fallen, when they came in to substitute another whose bitter sense of personal wrong naturally mingles an alloy of vindictiveness in all his feelings, and to supply fuel to the popular fire which might in its progress burn them all from the face of the earth. Verily, the ways of Providence are past finding out! It looks to me as if it was not its will that mercy should be extended to these miserable criminals.
Yet there was never a moment when the position of the nation was more sublime than on that very Good Friday, the 14th of April, when this most atrocious crime was committed. The war had gone to the extent of disarming all further effective resistance by the rebels, and the question left to decide was only how best to soften the bitterness of defeat. The public voice was unequivocally for Christian charity, and the exercise of it had been agreed upon as a policy in the Executive Mansion by the Chief Magistrate in conjunction with the Commander in Chief of the forces. Even the most prejudiced of the English are reluctantly constrained to admit that this was the grandest spectacle seen in a popular government ever since the world began. Just at that instant comes in a whisper prompted by the father of all evil, “Let us knock down all this edifice by a single blow.” And the blow was given.
But I doubt if it accomplished its object. It may however complete other purposes not contemplated by its author. It may fix the condition of immediate and total emancipation more firmly than before, and likewise call forth from all that is found worth saving in the doomed community a sentiment of reprobation which may be the forerunner of a higher morality hereafter. The murder of Abraham Lincoln sets a stigma which will not be effaced or expiated except by long years of thorough reformation.
The excitement in this country has been deep and wide, spreading through all classes of society. My table is piled with cards, letters and resolutions. . . .
New Creek, April 28, 1865.
My Darling: — Yours came yesterday. I can’t yet decide anything, either as to your coming here, or as to my quitting service. As soon as the Government, in any official way, says officers of my grade, or generally, are no longer needed in their present numbers, I am ready to go.
I am a little bored, at the same time that I am pleased, by the doings of the Ohio soldiers of my old division.[1] I tried to stop the proceedings getting into print, but am now told that I was too late. I have letters from all the colonels of a very pleasant sort, as to their feelings, etc., etc.
I have a leave to go to Washington, and shall go there early next week, to spend the week. I shall then probably decide all matters as to your coming out or my going home. I think three weeks will be long enough for your absence if you come.
I have a long letter from Crook written soon after Lee’s surrender. He thanks the guerrillas for his capture, as it got him into active service. — Sheridan by his personal efforts secured the victory of Five Forks, which decided the fate of Richmond, Lee, and all. — Love to all.
Affectionately ever,
R.
Mrs. Hayes.
[1] A meeting, April 20, which adopted resolutions urging the Union party to nominate Hayes for Governor of Ohio. See “Life,” Vol. I, p. 290.
April 28th, 1865.
We are now encamped on the homeward side of Washington, about two miles east of Georgetown, where we are to remain, so say our officers, until mustered out. Of course, that day will not be revealed to us until the date of its arrival. It would not be military to give out information in advance. I form my conclusions after reading the signs of the times, and am convinced our final muster-out will occur the last of May or first of June.
Only one thing can delay us, and that not for long; and that is Sherman’s unfortunate treaty with Johnson. That was a sad mistake, but I think General Grant will easily correct it.
28th.—We have no mail communication, and can hear nothing from General Johnston. We go on as usual, but are almost despairing. Dear M., in her sadness, has put some Confederate money and postage stamps into a Confederate envelope, sealed it up, and endorsed it, “In memory of our beloved Confederacy.” I feel like doing the same, and treasuring up the buttons, and the stars, and the dear gray coats, faded and worn as they are, with the soiled and tattered banner, which has no dishonouring blot, the untarnished sword, and other arms, though defeated, still crowned with glory. But not yet—I cannot feel that all is over yet.
